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in South America, I’ve been charged at by a rhino and dangled by a rope over a thousand-foot crevasse, but I found Lucia pretty scary. She had every single person in that queue intimidated, but you she calls cara. What’s that about?’

      ‘Oh, nothing,’ I said, making patterns in the cappuccino froth with my teaspoon. ‘I wrote her a note once, that was all.’

      ‘What sort of note?’

      ‘I noticed that she wasn’t here one day, mainly because the queue doesn’t move nearly as fast when she’s not around. I asked why not, and she told me she’d had to go back to Italy because her father had died. I wrote her a short note, just to say that I was sorry. It wasn’t a big deal,’ I muttered. I was rather embarrassed by the way Lucia had never forgotten it.

      Phin looked at me thoughtfully. ‘That was a kind thing to do.’

      Feeling awkward, I sipped at my coffee. ‘I didn’t do much,’ I said. ‘Anyone can write a note.’

      ‘But only you did.’

      He picked up his doughnut and took a big bite while I watched enviously. My mouth was watering, and I was feeling quite light-headed with the lack of sugar.

      ‘Want a bit?’ he asked, offering the plate.

      I flushed at the thought that he had noticed me staring. ‘No…thank you,’ I said primly.

      ‘Sure? It’s very good.’

      I knew it was good. That was the trouble. ‘I’m sure.’

      ‘Suit yourself.’ Phin shrugged, and finished the doughnut with unnecessary relish.

      The more he enjoyed it, the crosser I got. What sort of boss was this, who dragged you out to coffee, tried to force-feed you doughnuts and then tortured you by eating them in front of you?

      Scowling, I buried my face in my cappuccino.

      ‘So, Summer Curtis,’ he said, brushing sugar from his fingers at last. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

      It sounded like an interview question, so I sat up straighter and composed myself. ‘Well, I’ve been working for Gibson & Grieve for five years now, the last three as assistant to the Chief Executive’s PA—’ I began, but Phin held up both hands.

      ‘I don’t need to know how many A levels you’ve got or where you’ve worked,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Lex wouldn’t have appointed you if he didn’t trust you absolutely. I’m more interested in finding out what makes you tick. If you’re going to be my personal assistant I think we should get to know each other personally, and your work experience won’t tell me anything I really need to know.’

      ‘Like what?’ I asked, disconcerted.

      Phin sat back against the banquette and eyed me thoughtfully. ‘Like your pet peeves, for instance. What really irritates you?’

      ‘How long have you got?’ I asked. ‘Sniffing. Jiggling. Mess. Smiley faces made out of punctuation marks. Phrases like “Ah…bless…” or “I love her to bits, but…” Men who sit on the tube with their legs wide apart. Unpunctuality. Sloppy spelling and misuse of the apostrophe—that’s a big one for me.’ I paused, aware that I might have been getting a bit carried away. ‘Do you want me to go on?’

      ‘I think I might be getting the picture,’ he said, his mouth twitching.

      ‘I’m a bit of a perfectionist.’

      ‘So I gathered.’ I could tell he was trying not to laugh, and I was beginning to regret being so honest.

      ‘You did ask,’ I pointed out defensively.

      ‘I did. Maybe I should have asked you what you do like.’

      ‘I like my job.’

      ‘Being a secretary?’

      I nodded. ‘Organisations like Gibson & Grieve don’t work unless executives have proper administrative back-up. I like organising things, checking details, pulling everything together. I like making sure everything is in its right place. That’s why I like filing. I find it satisfying.’

      Phin didn’t say anything. He just looked at me across the table.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, putting up my chin. ‘I do. Shoot me.’

      He grinned at that. ‘So…an unexpectedly kind, nitpicking perfectionist with an irrational prejudice against poor punctuation and a bizarre attachment to filing. I think we’re getting somewhere. What else do I need to know about you?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Nothing? There must be more than that.’

      I drank my coffee, unaccountably flustered. I was more thrown than I wanted to admit by the blueness of his eyes, by that lazy smile and the sheer vitality of his presence. There was a whole table between us, but I was finding it hard to breathe.

      ‘I really don’t know what you want me to tell you,’ I said. ‘I’m twenty-six, I share a flat in south London with a friend, and my life is the exact opposite of yours.’

      His eyes gleamed at that, and he leant forward. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Well, you come from a wealthy family whose stores are a household name,’ I pointed out. ‘You make television programmes doing the kind of things the rest of us would never dare to do, and when you’re not skiing down a glacier or hacking through a jungle you’re at all the A-list parties—usually with a beautiful girl on your arm. The closest I get to an A-list party is reading about one in Glitz, and I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than set foot in a rainforest. We don’t have a single thing in common.’

      ‘You can’t say that,’ Phin objected. ‘You don’t really know anything about me.’

      ‘I feel as if I do,’ I told him. ‘My flatmate, Anne, is your biggest fan, and after listening to her talk about you for the past two years I could take a quiz on you myself.’ I pushed my empty cup aside. ‘Go on—ask me. Anything,’ I offered largely, and even gave him an example. ‘What’s your latest girlfriend called?’

      A smile was tugging at the corner of Phin’s mouth. ‘You tell me,’ he said.

      ‘Jewel,’ I said triumphantly. ‘Jewel Stevens. She’s an actress, and when you went to some awards ceremony last week she wore a red dress that had Anne weeping with envy.’

      ‘But not you?’

      ‘I think it would have looked classier in black,’ I said, and Phin laughed.

      ‘I’m impressed. Clearly I don’t need to tell you anything about myself, as you know it all already. Although I think I should point out that Jewel isn’t, in fact, my girlfriend. We’ve been out a couple of times, but that’s all. There’s no question of a real relationship, whatever the papers say.’

      ‘I’ll tell Anne. She’ll be delighted,’ I said. ‘She’s got a very active fantasy life in which you figure largely, in spite of the fact that she’s very happy with her fiancé, Mark.’

      ‘And what do you fantasise about, Summer?’ asked Phin, his eyes on my face.

      Ah, my fantasies. They were always the same. Jonathan realising that he had made a terrible mistake. Jonathan telling me he loved me. Jonathan asking me to marry him. We’d buy a house together. London prices being what they were, we might have to go out to the suburbs, and even pooling our resources we’d be lucky to get a semi-detached house, but that would be fine by me. I didn’t need anywhere grand. I just wanted Jonathan, and somewhere I could stay.

      I realise a suburban semi-detached isn’t the stuff of most wild fantasies, but it was a dream that had kept me going ever since Jonathan had told me before Christmas that he ‘needed some space’. He thought it was better that we didn’t see each other outside the office

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